


The Exorcists

by brocanteur



Series: To Bedlam and Part Way Back [3]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Hate Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She tells herself that if they never do it again, if she never stops to think about it, it'll be as if it never happened at all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exorcists

**Author's Note:**

> Titles and opening quotes stolen from Anne Sexton.

_"I swear, I most solemnly swear, on all the bric-à-brac of summer loves, I know you not."_

 

\-----

 

Katie tells herself that if they never do it again, if she never stops to think about it, it'll be as if it never happened at all.  
   
For an entire week, she stays home--changes into her pyjamas before ten, is in bed by eleven.  
   
Emily asks, "Are you feeling all right? Is it because--"  
   
" _What_?"  
  
Katie turns away, and faces the wall. It's not yet nine-thirty, but she's already in bed whilst Emily's only just getting ready to sneak off to be with Naomi. Katie still can't believe that this is what's become of her life. She wonders if it's how Emily felt, all those nights Katie would go out with boyfriends while Emily sat at home, alone, doing coursework or watching telly, or whatever else shut-ins do. Katie feels she should learn, and fast, or else she'll die of absolute, miserable boredom.  
   
"This isn't like you, Katie. And I know Mum and Dad won't ask, because they're so glad you're staying in for once in your life, but, are you sick? Do you feel, I dunno, dep--"  
   
"Don't be ridiculous," Katie snaps, sitting up in her bed, levelling Emily with a glare. She doesn't need this, Emily prying into her mental state.  
   
"I'm not being ridiculous," Emily replies firmly. "You're _in bed_. It's summer, for Christ's sake." Then, she does what Emily always does, what Katie absolutely loathes. Her face softens and she asks what she's been asking the entire week, "Come out with us?"  
   
" _No_. You're disgusting together. I'd rather mind James and his pervy friends than have to spend the night watching you two, like, gay it up, okay?"  
   
Emily crosses her arms and purses her lips, looking rather stern for a moment before releasing a sigh. "It doesn't have to be like this, Katie. It's not... a competition."  
   
"What the fuck are you on about?"  
   
"You and Naomi."  
   
Of course Emily would think this was all about her. "Here's some vital information for you, Emily: not everything revolves around your sodding relationship, yeah? Go and be with your girlfriend, and just leave me alone."  
   
"If it's not that, then why won't you tell me?"  
   
"Because it's fucking _nothing_ ,  okay?  How many times do I have to explain myself, you stupid cow?" She pulls the blanket over her head, turns over noisily. Waits for Emily to let out an exasperated huff and for the door to slam shut before kicking off the covers.  
   
For a long time she just stares at the ceiling, looking for nothing, really, until she begins making shapes out of shadows.  
   
She isn't able to sleep, and thinks that maybe getting off might help, because it usually does. Except that when she slips her hand under the elastic of her knickers, she finds she's completely dry.  
   
"Fuck," she murmurs, screwing her eyes shut while she keeps her hand, unmoving, pressed to her cunt. Fantasising about old boyfriends doesn't help. Danny was a selfish prick in the sack and thinking of him does nothing for her. She tries to remember the last time she fucked Freddie--he was usually high, and a devastatingly boring shag, but he had his moments or she might not have stayed with him as long as she did. Except  she wasn't the one who broke up with him, Katie realises, swallowing down a sudden knot of embarrassment.  
   
She doesn't want to think about it, tries to will herself not to, but it's impossible considering the last time she was fucked... No... The last time...  
   
Katie groans and turns her face into the pillow, flips it over so it's cool against her cheek. It's so unfair, that it's _Effy_ \--who fucked her over in so many ways--that finally causes Katie to flush, to feel against her fingertips the slick reminder of need. She sighs and thinks, _fuck it, Jesus, forget it_ , but it doesn't work and soon she's pressing the entirety of her hand between her legs, moving her hips with the memory of Effy's fingers inside of her; Effy's lips on her lips; Effy making her come--  
   
She bites the inside of her mouth hard enough that the coppery taste of blood saturates her tongue, feels herself clench around her fingers. Turns so her face is buried in her pillow even though she hasn't yet caught her breath.  
   
Her eyes burn, but she doesn't cry.  
   
Eventually, she sleeps.  
   
  
  
   
She dreams she's back in the woods, back at Gobbler's End.  With Effy, who's tripping so badly she stumbles and falls to the ground, laughing one moment, in tears the next.  
   
Katie says to her, "You should've killed me."  
  
Effy replies, "Come sit next to me, Katie."  
   
They lie beside each other and Katie is so cold she's trembling. She touches her forehead and feels something sticky and warm on her fingertips. "Oh."  
   
"What did you think would happen?" Effy asks, her eyes bright. "It's what you wanted."  
   
"Let's start over." Katie's vision blurs. She stands and feels dizzy, collapses in a heap next to Effy, whose smile turns so ugly, Katie wants to slap it away.  
   
"We can't."  
   
"Then we'll forget."  
   
Effy leans forward slowly, presses her mouth to Katie's wound. When she sits back, her mouth is bloody. "You can never forget."  
  
  
\-----   
  
   
Fucking Tesco.  
   
Her mother drags her out of bed one Saturday afternoon: "We'll shop together, okay, darling? Just the two of us."  
   
Katie refuses, but her mother is adamant, and after twenty minutes of arguing, Katie slips into a pair of jeans, half-heartedly runs a brush through her hair and sulks the entire trip to the supermarket.  
   
Now she pushes the trolley, her gaze fixed on the floor as her mum murmurs something about how disgusting Farley's banana rusks are.  
   
"Sweetheart, go and fetch a jar of pickled onions, will you?"  
   
Katie blinks and looks up, curling her lip in disgust ("I know," her mother says,  "but James loves them so"), but does as she's told.  
   
She wanders to the right aisle, glancing around until she finds what she's looking for. She's got the jar in her hands when she hears (and feels, the voice is so close to her ear), "Wow. Delicious."  
   
It would just be her fucking luck, Katie thinks, as she fumbles the jar and drops it, watching it shatter on the ground, glass and pickled onions and the smell of brine _everywhere_.  
   
Effy grabs her by the hand and pulls her away. "Come on, then," she murmurs. "No one's seen."  
   
Katie doesn't know why she follows, but she does. Soon they're outside, leaning against the side of the building, sharing a cigarette.  
   
"You look like..." Effy pauses, gives Katie the once-over, and laughs a bit meanly. "What was it? Microwaved shit?"  
   
"Fuck off. As if you looked any better," Katie replies, pointedly staring at Effy's outfit which consists of a pair of severely ripped up black jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that was probably once black, but has faded grey. "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"  
   
"Our mothers seem to have similar ideas about the therapeutic effects of shopping." Effy reaches behind her, under her shirt. "I've knicked a tin of custard."  
   
Katie rolls her eyes. "Impressive. Next thing, you'll be telling me you're able to tie your own laces as well."  
   
Effy's smile is slow and wide. "It's for you, Katie. Because you're so sweet." Sucking her index and middle fingers, Effy then slides them wetly across Katie's cheek.  
   
Katie flinches, but doesn't look away from Effy's impassive stare. She opens her mouth to say something, but in the end only grunts her revulsion. She thinks she's out of words to describe her hatred for Effy.  
   
It would worry her, if she cared.  
   
"Let's go," Effy says. She squints into the sun one moment then takes a step in the direction of the road.  
   
"Go where?"  
   
Effy shrugs.  "Aren't you bored? We’ll get fucked up."  
   
"Go where?"  
   
"My house."  
   
"Don't be stupid."  
   
Lifting a shoulder, Effy says, "Whatever." She turns away for a moment, seems to think better of it and swivels back, pressing Katie to the wall with her hips. She kisses her, and it's the kind of kiss Katie recognises; like their very first kiss--slow and calculated--only this time it isn't fuelled by vodka or MDMA or anything else except, apparently, Effy's boredom.  
   
Katie puts her hands on Effy's shoulders and pushes, hard, watching as Effy stumbles, the back of her hand to her mouth. Effy just laughs, which makes Katie  so angry she has to dig her nails into her palms, just to keep from spitting in Effy's face.  
   
"Jesus," Katie snarls. "What the fuck? We're in public, yeah?"  
   
Effy shakes her head. "Is that what bothers you about this?"  
   
Gazing away--she despises the way Effy looks at her, hates her eyes and the way they seem to penetrate everything--Katie murmurs, "Just leave me the fuck alone." She puffs on the cigarette--Effy's cigarette--and tastes ash.  
   
"Sure," Effy says, but as she speaks she takes a step closer. Katie automatically crosses her arms, as if that were enough to protect her. As if anything could. "It's just fucking. It won't shatter your world, Katie. And when we're done," Effy shrugs, "we're done."  
   
"I'm done," Katie says firmly.  
   
Effy kisses her again, nearly slams her into the wall and-- Katie wishes it weren't so desperate. She wishes it didn't make her ache.  
   
When there's a bit of space between their lips, Effy whispers, "It's nothing." She licks Katie's mouth, one firm swipe of her tongue, like a cat. "How can you end nothing?"  
   
The first thing Katie wants to ask is _why_. Why, and what is Effy getting out of any of this, besides the satisfaction of crawling under Katie's skin.  But she doesn't ask anything. Doesn't do more than dig into her pocket for her mobile, to ring her mum.  
   
"I've run into a friend from college," she says, staring all the while at Effy. Effy raises her eyebrows, smirks a bit, but Katie just rolls her eyes and turns away, finishing her conversation with her face to the wall. "She thought it might be nice if we went out and did something together... I'll see you later, yeah?"  
   
"Friend from college, eh?" Effy asks, once Katie's ended the call.  
   
"Shut up," Katie replies quietly. "Just shut your fucking mouth."  
   
  
  
   
The house is empty, silent. They don't talk as they go inside, as they slowly climb the stairs.  
   
Effy's room isn't what Katie had expected. It's surprisingly white, nearly bare. There are few things on the walls (and, really, that tacky silhouette of a girl, made up entirely of sex phrases, is almost too fucking ridiculous, even for Effy), but nothing that seems to mean anything. Katie can't, from the objects in Effy's room, make out anything that matters.  
   
Except, on the dresser, hidden behind a couple of empty, tipped over bottles of vodka, she spots a picture frame. Katie recognises the boy in the photograph--Effy's brother Tony, the one who went mental. _Runs in the family,_ she thinks unkindly. But, no, she remembers now, that's wrong--he was hit by a fucking bus.  
   
"Your brother's not home for the summer, then?" she asks, promptly regretting the question when Effy slips past her and turns the frame so it's facing the wall.  
   
They exchange a look, and Effy's expression shifts a few times--as though she's trying to decide whether Katie's being sarcastic or condescending or what--before she answers, "No. He's in New York."  
   
"Right." Katie purses her lips, waits a few moments, extremely aware of the change in Effy's demeanour--a little colder, maybe, definitely more guarded, like she's just realised Katie's in her space--and shrugs. "So?"  
   
Effy opens a drawer, takes out a little wooden box. "Spliff?"  
   
"Whatever."  
   
"There's a bottle there," Effy says, nodding in the direction of her nightstand.  
   
Katie sees it and picks it up, unscrews the cap and takes a long drink; it makes her gasp, it's so strong. She wonders how it is Effy gets away with having bottles of booze lying around her room. "Does no one, like, fucking come in here, or what?" she asks.  
   
The look of supreme boredom on Effy's face is answer enough. Katie watches her roll the spliff with ease, takes it when Effy offers it with a small smile. "We'll get fucked up," Effy says. "And then we'll--"  
  
"God, don't fucking say it," Katie interrupts. She takes a swig from the bottle--the equivalent of one shot, probably--and hands it to Effy before sinking to the floor.  
   
They sit next to each other, their backs pressed to the bedframe and the bottle of vodka between them. Effy doesn't talk, and Katie's got nothing she wants to say. The quiet settles between them like an uninvited guest, watching them and waiting to see what they'll do.  
   
For a while Katie puts up with it--she smokes and drinks until her eyelids feel heavy and a heat's settled low in her stomach. Eventually, though, she starts feeling a bit silly--and it's weird, being alone with Effy and feeling like she has to laugh or she'll burst. "You fucked Freddie," she begins to say, stopping to giggle stupidly. "You fucked him after you left me, like, bleeding and unconscious." She releases another bark of laughter, because Effy's just staring back at her mutely, unsmiling. The fit of laughter doesn't stop, not even as she says, "God, Effy, _you fucking cunt,_ you killed me."  
   
It comes out wrong. She meant to say _could've_ , maybe, but Effy's eyes widen and she's suddenly leaning in and sweeping Katie's hair back, away from her scar. She kisses it-- _kisses it_ \--and Katie scrambles to get away from the touch, lashing out until she manages to slap Effy soundly across the cheek. The entire side of her face is red when Effy brings her hand to it and smiles.  
   
"Does that make it better?" she asks. In a flash she's got a hold of Katie's hand--it's bunched into a fist, and Effy has to carefully unfurl it, digit by digit. She then puts Katie's fingers to her throat and whispers, "How about now?"  
   
It doesn’t even matter that Katie’s the one with her hand wrapped around Effy’s throat, not really, because she feels like Effy’s hit her all over again. She's dizzy and confused and her heart's beating so fast she has to draw in several gulps of air to try and steady herself. It was a bad idea, she thinks, getting fucked up where they were alone. It was a mistake not to wait. Not to wait until they were in a club somewhere, surrounded by people. And, Christ, when did fucking in public become the least dangerous thing to do?  
  
(No, no, it’s _all_ been a mistake, but knowing that hasn’t stopped them. They haven’t learned a fucking thing.)  
   
It doesn’t matter. She’s pushed Effy to the floor, straddling her hips. One hand is on Effy’s throat and she’s squeezing, hard enough that Effy’s expression goes a bit panicked.  Her other hand is in Effy's hair, tangling it in a tight knot at the base of her skull. It must hurt, she thinks. It must fucking hurt.  
   
Beneath her palm, she can feel Effy’s throat work--and when she leans close, very close, she can hear laboured breathing. The wispy remains of pained exhalations settle on Katie's mouth and she dips the rest of the way, brushing her lips against Effy's. She smiles.  
   
When Katie releases her hold, Effy coughs violently for a long time but when she can, she smiles too, and says, her voice unrecognisable, "You can do better than that."  
   
Katie laughs, but it feels like she's the one who's choking. "What the fuck do you want, Eff?" she asks, grinding down to Effy's lap. "D'you want me to cut you open, then?" She bites Effy's mouth, but doesn't have the heart to make it more than a scraping of teeth on lip.  
   
Effy hisses anyway. "Yes," she replies, her voice hardly carrying the scant inches between them. "Would you please?"  
   
Staring at the finger-shaped bruises on Effy’s neck--red, a deep red, but already she can see they’ll turn something uglier--Katie whispers, “Fucking tell me, babe, what d’you think’s going to come crawling out of you? Think you’ll feel better about all the shit you’ve done?”  
   
“I don’t know.” Effy’s smile is weak and Katie swears her mouth is trembling, but she’s looking so hard, so intently, it might all be a hallucination. “What came out of you, Katie?”  
   
_Everything_ , Katie wants to say. _You left me with nothing_. Tears prick her eyes, but she blinks them back ruthlessly. “Don’t fucking talk to me like you know me,” she says, pressing her forearm to Effy’s throat, and for the first time, Effy seems genuinely surprised by something. Seeing that shock, watching Effy's watery blue eyes widen with genuine surprise--Katie’s cunt clenches with unexpected pleasure. She presses down against Effy’s hip, feeling a damp heat between her legs. “You don’t fucking know me, okay?”  
   
Effy's lips part; she swipes her tongue deliberately along them and Katie stares.  
   
"Oh, Katie," Effy murmurs. Slowly, she brings her hand up, letting her fingers settle on Katie's fringe, sweeping it back and away from her face. "So then what do I know?"  
   
Katie slaps her, again, and for a moment the only thing she hears--besides the incessant pounding of blood in her ears--is the sound of Effy's half-sob reverberating between them.  
   
"Don't do that," Katie says, trying not to sound sorry, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "You don't do that, _ever_."  
   
Effy's eyebrow quirks, lending her an air of vulnerability until the mask is back--and the she's serene again, uncaring. She says, "I understand." Then, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she turns her head to the side, looking for-- "Hand me the bottle, will you? I can't fucking move with you sitting on me."  
   
Katie blinks and, just like that, Effy's taken the power back.  
   
When she reaches for the bottle, Katie starts to shift off of Effy's lap--feeling strangely as though she's been rejected--but Effy quickly sits up and grabs her by the shoulders. "It's fine," she murmurs, once she seems sure Katie won't move. "Stay there." She steals the bottle back, takes several long swallows--Katie watches with morbid fascination as the liquid works its way down her bruised throat. Were it anyone else, she might ask if it hurts--but it's Effy and it's Katie who put those bruises there anyway.  
   
Effy presses the lip of the bottle to Katie's mouth and before Katie has a chance to reach for it, tips it back. It's surprise that forces Katie to start swallowing, but she can't do it quickly enough and soon the liquid's spilling down her chin, her neck, falling onto her chest and wetting her top. By the time Effy's drinking, downing the rest of the vodka like it's water, Katie's still gasping for air, her throat on fire.  
   
"Christ," she whimpers, watching Effy toss the empty bottle aside, watching as she leans in gracelessly, and licks a singular, sloppy path from Katie's chest up to her mouth.  
   
Katie groans. It feels good; it shouldn’t feel this good.  
   
Their first kiss is the dirtiest Katie remembers giving anyone. There’s no finesse, just lots of wet, greedy tongue and arching into one another. Katie steadies herself by wrapping her arms around Effy's back, her palms flat between Effy's shoulder blades and low on her back. Effy's rubbing Katie’s tits roughly through her top, making her throb with need.  
   
Pretending would be pretty pointless, so Katie lets herself be loud, allows herself to moan into Effy's mouth when Effy sucks on her tongue and slides a hand under her shirt. When Effy pushes aside the top of Katie's bra, her fingernails pressing down hard enough to make Katie jerk, Katie retaliates by biting Effy's lip.  
   
"Take off that ridiculous top," Katie says firmly, but Effy just raises her arms, staring patiently while she waits for Katie to do it for her. "Fuck's sake," Katie murmurs, tugging angrily at the t-shirt until she's got it over Effy's head. They've made a mess of her hair--it looks wild and unkempt, but when Katie runs her fingers through it, smooths it down with a scowl, it's brilliantly soft.  
   
It's when Effy says, "What a lovely gesture," that Katie realises what she's doing and stops abruptly.  
   
The first thing she notices when she drops her hands is that Effy's topless, and there's something...unsettling about it, because they've never fucked without their clothes on and even though Effy's breasts are just breasts, there's something almost...  Not arousing--Katie's not gay, despite all present evidence to the contrary. But it makes what they're doing seem less arbitrary, less spontaneous.  
   
It makes Katie want to run.  
   
"Hey," Effy says, as if she's caught the look of doubt on Katie's face, "your turn." As she's talking, she keeps her eyes locked on Katie's--her gaze is so relentless that Katie doesn't even notice her shirt's unbuttoned until Effy's pushing it off her shoulders and reaching for the clasp of her bra. "Nice tits."  
   
Katie snorts, and doesn't bother returning the off-handed compliment. She does look again, her gaze travelling down the sweep of Effy's bruised neck to her chest. She's got freckles, Effy--a sparse constellation that runs down the middle of her torso. Katie forces herself to look up, and when she does, she catches Effy smirking at her. "Yours are flat," Katie says, hoping she sounds unimpressed enough.  
   
Raising an eyebrow, Effy takes one of Katie's hands, puts it on her breast. "Does it really matter?"  
   
They start kissing again, and it's a little more restrained than when they started. Katie's still well drunk, but she doesn't feel like the room is spinning or anything. If she were to stand, she might teeter, but she'd probably be able to walk away without falling on her face.  
   
"Get on the bed," Effy murmurs.  
   
It's almost a shock to remember there _is_ a bed in the room with them, because the option hadn't even occurred to Katie, not after their previous hookups. It still seems like too much. Like it'll mean--  
  
"No."  
   
Leaning away, Effy--her lips are swollen, red--says, "What do you think's going to happen when I get you flat on your back, Katie?"  
   
"I--" Katie shakes her head, speechless for a moment before recovering and saying, tartly, "How the fuck should I know? You're the one with a history of reaching for blunt objects, yeah?"  
   
Effy's smile is pained. "Don't worry. It won't hurt."  
   
Katie doesn't ask if Effy's done this before, with other girls--mostly because she's distracted, once they're actually on the bed, by all the soft skin pressed against her. Effy's too thin, almost fragile--except not at all. She moves like something lean and deadly--all sinew and grit and big, devastating eyes.  
   
Katie hates that any part of her thinks Effy beautiful.  
   
It's the first time that Effy settles between Katie's thighs; that she presses her open mouth to Katie's cunt. Katie closes her eyes when she can't keep her gaze fixed on the ceiling, when she keeps having to look, to see Effy--intently, so intently--licking, kissing hungrily. Where did that hunger come from? Effy's never hungry. Effy never _needs_.  
   
Katie tenses and relaxes, her legs trembling as Effy finds what Katie needs stroked only to lose it, to start again that building of tension. Katie doesn't know whether she's being teased, or Effy just doesn't know, so she releases her hold on the sheet and puts her hand at the back of Effy's head, guiding her. It's surprising, how pliant Effy is, how willing to please. Katie wants to tell her, wants to tell her how good it feels, what she's doing--but she just wants to get off without thinking about it. It’ll do her head in if she does.  
  
When she thinks she's finally going to come, Effy switches positions again, and Katie feels like she'll cry soon, if she doesn't find some relief. "Christ," she groans--she hasn't stopped whimpering since the first slick swipe of Effy's tongue. "Use your fucking--" She stops to gasp when Effy licks sharply at her clit. "God, your fucking fingers..."  
   
Effy hums and Katie feels it down to her toes, to her hardened nipples. When two of Effy's long, slim fingers slide inside of her, Katie lifts her hips to meet hard, rhythmic thrusts.  
   
She doesn't want to think about the way she started chanting-- _Effy, Effy_ \--right before she climaxed.  
   
And she doesn't want to see--but she does, watching dumbly as Effy straddles her thigh, grinding down on it, leaving a tell-tale wetness as she moves. Her chest is pink and she's touching her own breasts as she rides to a shuddering orgasm.  
   
It isn't until it's over that Katie realises she's had her hands on Effy's legs the whole time, gripping them tightly, leaving pink half-moons on paper white skin.  
   
She rolls out of bed and dresses quickly. Doesn't even say, "I need to go," or "See you later," or "That was fucking amazing. Let's do it again."  
   
Her head is throbbing and she needs a fucking shower. She thinks she can still feel Effy's saliva all over her body.  
   
"Cheers," she says, aware of Effy's blank stare as she runs out the door.  
   
She stumbles twice, and doesn't think she can breathe until she's two blocks from Effy's house and it begins to rain.  
  
  
\-----   
  
   
The next time they meet, it isn't an accident.  
   
Katie wonders what it means that she starts hiding her phone away, just to be sure Emily won't see something by chance. Not that she thinks Emily would actually go to the trouble of searching through her messages, but it's what Katie would do, so she errs on the side of caution.  
  
(She tells Effy this, when she speaks to her. When her phone rings, Katie speaks in generalities until she's an entire block away from her house, where she’s sure no one can overhear, and then she has to tell Effy to shut the fuck up and stop laughing, because _it's not funny_. None of it is.)  
   
They get totally fried, of course; it's comforting to know it's the drugs making Katie do all the things she does with Effy. She isn't why Effy’s doing it. She's certain she doesn't want to find out.  
   
At one of countless clubs, unbelievably high on loads of love fountains and spliff and booze, she drags Effy to a toilet stall and they fuck, sticky with sweat and barely able to keep upright because they're so wasted.  
   
Later, they sit together outside, trying to cool down because Katie was sure she'd pass out, she'd felt so feverish. "Better?" Effy asks, offering her a cigarette.  
   
Katie takes it and holds it between her fingers. Stares at it. "What the fuck am I doing here?"  
   
"Who knows," Effy murmurs, head tipping back into the wall they're sitting against, her bare legs flush with the dirty pavement. Her hand is splayed out on her thigh and, without thinking, Katie plucks it, examines her fingers.  
   
It's when she thinks of where those fingers have been that she drops Effy's hand as though she’s been burned.  
   
Effy just snorts, and takes back the fag. Smokes languidly. They sit in silence for a long while, and Katie--shivering, growing cold when a gust of air hits the sweat on her skin--itches to get away.   
   
The world is still spinning dangerously when she shifts clumsily, her arms wrapping around her legs as she rests her forehead on her knees.  
   
"You hate me, right?" Effy asks, sounding like she cares not at all either way.  
   
"Completely."  
   
She thinks she hears Effy whisper, "Good," but it's all a haze, so she can't be sure.  
   
  
  
   
"You've been going out a lot lately," Emily murmurs sleepily, once Katie's crawled into bed and pulled the covers up. She's well knackered--if Effy thinks they'll be able to keep this sort of schedule going forever, she's out of her ridiculous mind. They've gone out every night this week, and when Katie washes the makeup off her face, it shows.  
   
She thinks about not responding, about leaving Emily in the lurch, but: "So?"  
   
"Nothing, I just-- Are you going out alone?"  
   
"None of your fucking business."  
   
"I'm just trying to be--"  
   
"What? My sister? Fuck off, Emily."  
   
"Why are you being so nasty? It's just a question."  
   
"Because I'm _fucking tired_ , all right? Good enough for you?"  
   
Emily snorts and turns over, mutters, "Suit yourself, then."  
   
Part of her knows she's being a total bitch because whatever it is Emily's asking, Katie can't answer--not without looking like the world's most pathetic hypocrite. What would she say?  
  
_I'm being horrible because I'm fucking Effy Stonem. And I hate her, totally. I want her to die in some tragic accident involving rocks, but it's getting complicated, and I can't stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t know who I am anymore._

  
_What have I become?_

  
  


 


End file.
